A Jaded Family
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K. Rowling while Katekyo Hitman Reborn! belongs to the genius of Akira Amano. I make no claim to ownership on either of them.
A/N: This chapter has been edited.
A/N: Before you start reading, here some translations you may find useful:
Bambolina – Doll.
Ragazzina – Kid.
Dio Misericordioso – Merciful God.
Merda – Shit.
Giusto!– Right!
Ciao nonno! – Hi grandfather!
oOo
Chapter 8
31st July 1998 – St. Mungo's psych ward, London
Ginny Weasley was not crazy, thank you very much. She may be short-tempered, moody, even bitchy sometimes –and Morgana knew, with brothers like hers, she had every reason to be one- but not crazy. She had seen craziness; true, pure craziness. It had been mixed with unhealthy dose sadism and bloodlust, but it glinted too sharply in the eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange to confound it with something else.
She shuffled uncomfortably feeling the fine hair of her arms rising and her dominant hand twitch. That bloody woman kept tormenting her even as a corpse. Ginny supposed that, like You-Know-Who, some people just couldn't stop being terrifying. The witch sure did enough nasty things to give nightmares to the Wizarding population for the next few decades. It was normal to be scared. It was normal to be jumpy. It was normal to be stressed. It was. Truly.
In the end, why she capitulated, she had no idea. It was not like it would help. And it was not like he understood, he wasn't there. He wasn't there when the Death Eaters conquered the school; when the students had to cast Unforgivables on each other. When they had to run and hide inside the Room of Requirement so very terrified and alone. He wasn't there when they had to stay strong and fight and bleed and just keep going on-
She took a deep breath, trying to stop her frenetic thoughts and the hitch in it. Being here made it worse. Talking about it made it worse. Thinking about it made it worse. Still, Shacklebolt, her parents, the whole Wizarding World… they kept pushing. Not just her or the rest of the DA but all the survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts.
They insisted they sought out help.
Like they were broken dolls and they needed for them to be fixed. Like in some way they could retrieve the innocence they had lost. Like they would forget what they had seen and how they abandoned them for a year. It was impossible to forget and, she was starting to think, it would be impossible to forgive too. At least for her.
She glared resentfully at the Mind Healer Jonathan Adams, the one who was supposed to analyze her traumas and help her heal. Not that it worked; she had never said a word to him, spending their two hours together in complete silence. Looking at him, the young Weasley sneered at his kind, understanding eyes and crossed her arms in front of her.
A little part of her was sure that if he wasn't her healer, she would have liked the old man well enough; but he was her therapist and that changed everything.
As for now, she didn't like him. She didn't like his wizarding and muggle degrees that covered the study's walls. She didn't like his nice furniture and his cleanly stacked books-filled library. Not even his easy smile or his polite approach.
'Everything here is for the purpose to make people feel at ease and willing to open up…' The red-head thought irritated. 'Even the Healer…' But why should she? She already did once, when she was eleven and lonely, trusting the diary of a teenager Tom Riddle with her innermost secrets and desires and it ended with her sanity and very soul almost lost forever.
"How are you feeling today Miss Weasley?" His smooth, reassuring voice cut through her storming thoughts and young witch bit her lower lip to stop herself from snorting back at him. It always started with that question, like a broken record. Now she knew why Harry hated it so much. It was annoying as hell. "What do you think?" She replayed sarcastically, hoping that her snapping at him would put him off her back once for all. She had a long afternoon; her DA squad found a mass grave in their rose gardens while searching Lestrange Manor for evidence. That sight will remain burned in her memory forever. She really wanted to just go home and sleep the rest of her life away.
However, her response seemed to please him more than anything else. She supposed it was an improvement from gazing the walls for the whole sessions. Indeed, the lines on his face smoothed slightly and sipping lightly on his cup of tea, Adams commented, "I don't know, that's why I'm asking you." As always he had offered her one too, a politely pleasant if not smoothing ritual that he insisted on pursuing before the start of her session. However, hers, like always, remained untouched on the coffee table in front of her. "So how did you spend this couple of weeks?"
"I can't disclose DA missions with whoever I want."
The Healer hummed lightly, scribbling something down on his notepad, "Job only? Did you visit your parent at all?"
Her chocolate brown eyes narrowed imperceptibly, and her tone of voice defensive, "Keep my family out of this, Healer. We are fine. I am fine."
"Ginevra," he said sighing heavily, his quill all but forgotten against the parchment he was writing on. "I highly doubt you are fine. Your parents are mourning a son, you kids a brother…"
She shook her head and shuffled fluttered uncomfortably in her armchair, pulling nervously at her ginger locks. Despite her usual indifferent tone, this time, the trembling in her voice was discernible -if it was due from anger or fear she didn't know, "I don't want to talk about this anymore."
The Healer, however, seemed he didn't hear her. "…Not only that, you children were made to fight a battle that should have been fought very far away from you all…"
"Shut up!"
"… not to mention your first year with the opening of the Chamb-"
"I SAID SHUT UP!" She kept shouting, her patience finally running out after months of listening to the wizard who kept going on and on about such forbidden topics. Her temper finally got the better of her. And her silence broke. "WE DID WHAT WE HAD TO DO! WE LEARNED TO SURVIVE IN THE ONLY WAY WE FOUND! AND WE FOUGHT AND WE WON WHILE YOU ALL HIDE LIKE SNIVELLING LITTLE COWARDS AND NOW YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO COMMENT ON MY LIFE LIKE IS A MERLIN DAMNED MUGGLE SOAP OPERA AND… and…"
The Healer's face was opened with a satisfied smile. And Ginny turned pale with a mix of anguish and embarrassment in understanding. He had outsmarted her.
After months of stubborn silence, he finally outsmarted her.
The tension-filled silence was punctuated by the sharp ticking of the clock. Her freckles stood out starkly against the waxy skin. "I have to go," she mumbled jumping up on her feet clumsily and snatching her DA cloak back in her arms. Nevertheless, she didn't take even a couple of steps before Healer Adams' voice stopped her.
"Ginevra… Ginny," he said softly, switching to a more familiar form for of address, "I can't even start to imagine how hard this situation is for you or your brothers. You had been very brave, you still are, however you were mentally unprepared for fighting in a war."
At the hunted look at the mention of the Battle of Hogwarts that lingered in her eyes, he took a decision. As a mind healer, he knew he wasn't supposed to give advice, it was important for his patients to take their time to acknowledge their problems; however, it seemed that the only way to make the young witch understand the gravity of the situation was talking honestly.
"You are now suffering from a mental disorder called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. And, despite what you may think, the nightmares, the flashbacks and the panic attacks won't stop. Smells, sounds, touches... Anything can be a trigger and push you into reliving the war… or the Chamber." He took her hands in his own and squeezed, trying to reassure her and impress the gravity of the situation. "Your temper will get shorter and shorter, then you'll start to feel detached and numb. In a matter of time, you'll lose every interpersonal relationship you have made in your life. Even with your own family. Ginny, I don't want to see you destroy yourself."
Levelly her with an uncompromising but sympathetic look, he walked her to the exit and showed her outside his office. "When you feel you are ready to talk, know that my door is always open for you. There is no shame in admitting you need help."
Incredulous, the redhead watched as the healer visage disappeared behind the door. She blinked, slowly. He let her go. He honestly gave her permission not to go to their sessions. 'He is letting me doing this at my pace…'
Inside the office, Adams rubbed tiredly his face. He did everything he could, now it was to Ms. Weasley decide what to do. You could not help those who didn't want to be helped, he knew it very well. Still, when his patients were so young and scared…
A light knocking interrupted his thoughts. It was followed by a muffled voice.
"I-I'll see you next week, healer Adams."
Miss Weasley.
A smile that stretched in his wrinkled face and closed his eyes in relief. PTSD was not something one could just ignore.
oOo
31st July 1998 – Black Forest, Germany
She saw the circus once. Not the show, no, heaven forbid Petunia let her have fun for once, but she saw the big tent, the exotics animals and colorful folk from the other side of a street in London.
Freaks, Uncle Vernon had called them under his breath before drag his family away. At that moment, five years old Harriet related with them, for what is a freak among other freaks? She imagined to be free from Privet Drive and its atrocious dullness and instead dreamed of breathing fire or fold herself inside a box.
Now, Harry realized that she didn't need a rope or work in a circus to be an equilibrist. Since her eleventh birthday, fantasy and reality mixed. And from that moment she had always lived her life with the adrenaline pumping, at the edge of peril.
At the edge of life and death.
It had always been easy to forget –to ignore- her problems when all her loved ones were suffering. She could focus on them and bury years and years of pain and disappointment behind a broken but fixed smile.
Nightmares and visions were no novelty for the Girl-who-Lived. They overwhelmed her fragile mind since she was fifteen years old after all. And so, with adrenaline pumping in her veins and her breath stained, reality and fantasy mix again; the air that was before so full of ashes became filled with smoke and the fire cracking change in colored flashes. Suddenly she was fifteen again and back in the Ministry's Death Chamber. Her hands were full of something to protect, something tiny and fragile and a dark-haired man had come to her rescue again.
"…Sirius?" She choked out, all but whispering, voice raw and tormented.
Her godfather was not far away from her, just a couple of paces, but still too far away. She was trembling and unbelievably pale and totally out of balance. Tears and smoke hazed her sight but she took no notice because all her focus was drawn on the approaching figure. His stride spoke of overconfidence and self-assurance. She couldn't help but think that, despite the years of prison, Sirius still walked like a Prima Donna.
He smirked at her, the mischievous and seductive tilt of the lips. Her breath hitched in her throat and her hands tremble so hard that she almost lost her hold on the bundle. Luckily for her, Sirius' instincts were sharp and he took it from her with strong hands before she can make it fall to the ground.
'It's good,' she thought, giving him a weak smile. 'Sirius wasn't like her. He would protect the prophecy…'
She stood there petrified, while sweat gathered at her temples, searching for a sign of acknowledgment from the man. He didn't give any; rather he frowned lightly looking at his full arms. Nonetheless, his grip firmed.
Her already broken heart hammered loudly in her ears as a voice inside her mind hissed that it wasn't as it should be. He shouldn't, couldn't be there. She didn't deserve for him to talk to her, look at her with soft eyes again. He should hate her, his needy goddaughter. Her and her stupidity.
However, he didn't seem to mind. He opened his mouth and the young Potter drank enchanted in the vision of his tongue swirling around vowels and consonant, pronouncing the familiar English lilt.
"Hi, Iris."
Shaking harder and harder, her heart jumped into her throat. Then it slowed down when the reality finally slammed into her. She stared up at him, emerald eyes glassy and dull, blinking away the remains mix of memories and dreams.
It was a remembrance of Bellatrix's exalted voice that reminded her that Sirius was dead; that his soul had departed from the mortal plan and his body was lost forever behind a mystic curtain. She felt herself die a little more. Just looking at this man hurt, for the likeness or the differences to Sirius she did not know.
His long, shaggy shoulder brown hair was similar enough but lacked the waves of ebony typical of the Black Family. His deep chocolate eyes had not enough grey and silver, not did glint and shine in the same way; even his chiseled features and athletic body contrasted with the emaciated one of her convicted godfather. However, he was similar enough. Similar enough that just watching him, made her hope and despair.
The man, not-Sirius, never-Sirius, stared at her studying, evaluating her and sighed deeply. Like he was disappointed. In what she had no idea.
Something about the man was putting her on edge, making the fine hair on the back of her head rose and focus all her senses on him. Instinctively, she went to tighten her grip on Teddy, only to not find him in her arms but in the stranger's instead. Burning anguish lodged firmly at the bottom of her stomach. Just the thought of losing the little metamorphous was enough to leave her feeling empty, numb. Completely drained.
How could she have lost herself so much that she didn't even realize that Teddy wasn't safe in her embrace? Never before her flashbacks had been so realistic nor they attacked her while she was wide awake. Her mind had finally betrayed her.
'Even with Voldemort's visions, she was relatively aware and now this…' She thought, feeling conflicted and desperate. She wanted to apparate away –being as far away as possible from this man and from the feelings and the memories he had awaken into her- but that would have meant leaving her godson behind. Something she found unacceptable. She knew the child she went to save was the only thing keeping her from shattering into millions of pieces.
Edward was too young for that form of traveling, anyway. And she still didn't know what that doctors had done to her four months old godson, what damage his little body had to bear under their care. She couldn't risk him, not now that freedom was so near.
The same male voice, the one who woke her from her daydream, this time colored with a hint of Italian accent, drawled out. "I'm Shamal, nice to meet you."
She took a step backward and rose a skeptical eyebrow at him. Shamal sounded everything but pleased; if she had to describe him, she would say he was more bored than anything else. Still, the man kept going on. "And you are Iris Sinclair. The kid who has given the Mafia a run for its money. I have to admit it, you gave an interesting chase."
Definitely uncomfortable to accept a compliment from a Mafioso, she decided it was wiser to simply let it go. Still, she pursed remembering how he addressed her. Morgana, she hated when people called her like that! "I'm not a kid."
"Oh, bambolina, don't I know it," he purred while lascivious eyes concentrated on the swell of her breasts and on her dragon-skin covered legs.
He was met with an impressive murderous stare. One he was more than certain she inherited from her grandfather. She just needed the abyss black irises.
"Was it everything for a brat?" He asked, nodding lightly to the baby precariously perched in his arms. He didn't particularly care about children -he preferred to give all his attention to the curvy mothers anyway- but even he could admit he was almost… cute. The black-haired child looked at him with a pair of liquid, innocent green eyes. 'Green eyes that were eerie similar to the ones that were currently glaring at him from a five foot five midget,' he thought mentally weeping. Dio Misericordioso, he really hoped it wasn't as he thought. Because Reborn's nerves could take a lot but a teen mum for granddaughter? If this wouldn't incite a rain of bullets, nothing would. "He is your little brother, right?"
Harry let her eyes jump to her godson for a second before pinning them back in his chocolate one, hardening with a fierce resolution that made him smile. Her body angled slightly towards him, slumped in a sort of languid readiness learned from fighting all her life, before snapping out, "Not that it is any of your business but no, he is not. Give him back. Now. "
He closed his eyes and mentally sighed. Someone up there really, really hated him. Why?! What did he do to deserve this?! He snorted, fully aware of his own hypocrisy. Still, he didn't think he deserved having to deal with a mama bear in a raging path.
'Talking about raging path…' The Mist stuffed his hands in his coat's pockets before saying, "Albani didn't take well to your little disappearing act. He got his killers searching for you…" He hummed almost lazily, tilting his head in a sort of sideways shrug and smiling charmingly. "You are lucky it was me who find you first."
Those intense green eyes opened, cold and hunted. "So you are not here to kill me?"
"Kill you?" He busted out laughing, "Sweetheart if I wanted to kill you I would have done it while you were daydreaming. You sure gave me time enough. No, I'm here because a friend asked me to find you and keep you safe."
"I don't need your help. I just need you to give me back Teddy and leave me alone."
"Leave you alone? To go where exactly? You are in the middle of nowhere in a damn German forest, ragazzina, and you need medical help for this brat. He had been in the Estraneos' hands for two months… at least. Who knows what they did to him?" The doctor snorted lightly. "Are you really in a position to refuse help?"
She gritted her teeth in frustration. He was right, obviously. Only a careful medical exam would show the damage done to her baby godson. And to his magic too. The child's eyes and hair changed to green and black once he saw her but they hadn't changed since. That's why she had no problem in casting the Imperius on one of the doctors to make him downloading all the medical procedures made on Teddy for her. would surely need them to treat the young wizard. She could only imagine what she would find in them once she had time to read them properly.
Suddenly, the pen drive in her purse seemed to weight a ton.
"I happen to be a doctor and I'm offering my services…" He murmured passing the child back to her; a show of trust if she knew one. "Usually I don't treat males but I'll make an exception for you two."
She pursed her lips; she needs to protect Teddy warring with her common sense. She shouldn't listen to him, she didn't even know him or the 'friend' who asked him to search for her. Still, she couldn't help but trust him a little; something deep inside her, something that was always struggling but still burning brightly after all these years, murmured that yes, she could trust him. He wouldn't betray her. "I thought you were a Mafioso, " she said in the end, with barely a whisper of breath.
"I am, but I do enjoy working with my medical degree. And it's an honest one too." He replayed smiling cheerfully, knowing he had won her over. He offered her his arm. "Now, can we go or are we waiting for the Todds to catch up with us?"
oOo
1st August 1998 – Undisclosed village, Germany
The little village they ended up hiding was unassuming. Criminals standard's unassuming.
'Private Drive unassuming...' the witch thought with a shiver looking around the two-room apartment. 'Just less fancy.'
It put her on edge with his normality and she could easily feel her body tense with unrestrained nerves.
For his part, Shamal could almost physically feel the hole the young Sinclair was trying to drill in his back. He lowered the child's –Teddy's he reminded himself- shirt and hung his stethoscope around his neck. "Explain to me again why exactly you set the Estraneo's building on fire."
The girl pursed her lips in irritation thinking back at her fiery onslaught. Breaking into the labs had been fairly easy thanks to her Cloak and a couple of well-aimed spells. The fact that it was significantly understaffed helped too. She made the mental note that if she ever meets that psycho –Mukuro Rokudo – she would thank him for his disinfection job.
Apparently, parasites like the Estraneos didn't deserve to live.
Any reservations she may had had, died a brutal death after finding the lab's cellblock and the inmates. Again, children or adults didn't make a difference; only their research mattered. This time, however, they made a colossal mistake: they took a wizard who was the carrier of the genetic marker for lycanthropy. And transfused his blood into them.
The possibility of Teddy to inherit his father's condition was one thing Andromeda had worried a lot. That's why the baby spent his first days at the St. Mungo doing all types of test. Luckily, it turned out his metamorphous ability suppressed any possibility of involuntary transformation. On the night of the full moon, the child would merely be in a very bad mood and maybe crave some rare meat. Nothing unmanageable.
But the muggles didn't have a magical core. They had no defense against the Wolf Curse and his symptoms. No remedy, muggle or otherwise, could help them from dying in agony. Giving them a painless death was the only thing she could do for them. Burning to the ground that accursed place was another. No one unauthorized would put their hands on Teddy's blood.
Blinking once to focus back on the Italian doctor, the witch summarized darkly, "They aggravated me."
The Mist rose an amused eyebrow and chuckled. He was quite certain none of the Estraneos escaped the compound before she set it on fire. Iris surely lived up to Reborn's reputation. "Of this, I have no doubt."
Nodding satisfied, he took off his rubber gloves with a snap. "The brat is fine. He's a bit underweight and anemic but he is mostly unharmed. He has been lucky."
The teen crossed her arms in front of her, looking distinctly unimpressed, "Do you call being kidnapped for three months 'being lucky'?"
Shamal shrugged and passed her the child. "His young age saved him from the experiments. That's a lot more than what the other inmates could say."
The green of her irises darkened in pain and she tightened her grip on the sleeping child. Protective instincts returning full force. Shamal mentally cursed his cynical tongue. Everything would be easier if he could just use his Flames on her -if only to get a read of her and her mood or understand just how strong hers were. But she showed she had quite the gasp on her Mist Flames in Genova and mingling their own together would put her immediately on the hostile side. Even on an unconscious level.
So he had to work on the only things he knew for certain. Humor always worked and his resemblance to this mysterious Sirius would give him some edge. Make her trust him more. "Listen, half-pint," he said ignoring her answering scowl with ease. "I'll prepare something to eat for the kid. In the meantime, take some clothes from the wardrobe and change yourself. It should be more comfortable than all that leather and then we will speak more."
Eyebrows furrowed in weariness, the English girl nodded making her way to out of the living room. However, her retreat was interrupted by one last lascivious comment. "Not that the whole dominatrix look doesn't suit you!"
The rude gesture that followed made him burst out laughing. What could he say? He had an appreciation for the female beauty and despite her small height and even smaller size, she had features to kill for. At this he frowned, the doctor side of him making him pause.
Something was seriously wrong with Iris Sinclair.
The abrupt sound of Teddy's babbling made him get a move and started to prepare the baby bottle. Picking up the lyophilized milk, the drawn figure of the child stared at him from the box. He shuddered visibly. He was so not ready for this shit. Still, the physical action gave him time to think about the young woman.
'PTSD,' he concluded after a long moment. He noticed the signs in the forest but he was fairly certain now. Combined with the utterly lethal grace she carried herself and the ruthless efficiency she displayed in those months, it spoke of a very fucked up childhood. An abusive one.
His eyes couldn't help but be attracted to the partially open door of the bedroom where the girl and the child retired. If it was a sign of trust or not, he didn't know. Still, his gaze fixed to Iris' undressing form and almost choked on his own saliva.
While the bruises ware something he expected, the scarred skin stretched over her the visible ribs and bony shoulders were not. They weren't the worst he had seen; still, those were Mafiosi not the civilian granddaughter of Renato Sinclair.
Shamal scrubbed a hand over his face irritably, shaking the baby bottle absent-mindedly with the other. The list of the person who would have to face the World's Greatest Assassin had just got longer and longer.
'Cute little Mist or not, this time Reborn own me big!' He thought, rolling up his shirt's sleeve, tasting the milk temperature on his inner wrist. 'The things I do for living…'
His mental whimpering was interrupted by his phone vibrating in his doctor coat. A hysterical laugh almost escaped him in seeing the name of the caller. "Talking about the Devil…"
He pushed the green button.
"Did you find her?"
The doctor snorted. So much for a hello. "Yes, Reborn, she is in the other room. Nobody followed us."
The Sun Flame User hummed in approval. "Good. What have you learned about her?"
'That he, Trident Shamal, was dead,' Shamal could help but think. She was a teen mum and he had to say that to the Strongest Arcobaleno. "Well, your granddaughter would make a good addition to any family. She has the mark of a formidable survivor," he explained pondering his words carefully. Then his face twisted into a horrible grimace. He just hoped his tomb would be comfortable enough. "…And she is intensely protective of her son-"
"Son?"
The incredulity of the hitman's tone was uncomfortable. For a second, Shamal was torn with the desire to start begging for mercy. Only what remained of his feeble pride stopped him from doing it. "Unconfirmed if he is adopted or not but he looks uncannily like her," the Mist eventually managed to answer.
He heard Reborn inhale sharply but whatever the shrunken man wanted to hurl at him was interrupted by a high pitched baby cry.
"Dr. Shamal? Is that baby bottle ready?" Iris rubbed it in without even realizing it from the other room.
The sting of Italian obscenities that followed made him blush.
"Just a second!" He stammered out to the Brit juggling between his cell phone and the baby bottle. Then he turned back to his call, "I-I have to go Reborn…"
"Don't you dare hang up, perv-"
However, it seemed that whatever God existed, he hated Shamal. With all his moving, the phone slipped from between his cheek and shoulder and it slammed hard against the kitchen floor. He looked at the scattered pieces and paled.
He just accidentally hung on the other killer. He just accidentally hung up on Reborn.
"…Dr. Shamal?"
Forlorn, he started walking toward his bedroom with a heavy heart in his chest and a feeding bottle in hand.
The Sinclair family would be the end of him..
.
.
Feeding Teddy seemed easier when Andromeda did it. A lot easier.
Watching the baby fail again from latching on the bottle, the witch's mouth flattened into a straight line.
She was ashamed to say that she never took a particularly active role in raising the little metamorphmagus. Between her missions with the DA, the meetings with the Minister and planning the rebuilding of Hogwarts it was a miracle she managed to go home every evening to put the child to sleep. Andromeda never blamed her for it; the older woman knew sometimes she didn't even have the time to sleep more than three hours in a row. There was just too much to do and so little time. And apparently, everything had to be Savior Approved.
It still didn't help her from feeling unimpressed with herself.
'This is ridiculous! I should be able to feed my own godchild!' she thought exasperated, doing her best to ignore the silently laughing man beside her.
Shamal, for his part, was having the time of his life. After the disastrous phone call with Iris' grandfather, he sure needed it. He crossed his arms around his midsection, leaning a hip against the edge of the bed, his neutral expression finally shifting to amusement.
The feeding bottle slipped from the child's mouth. Again.
He snickered. Her face morphed into a disgruntled expression.
"Think you can you do better?!" She snapped at him, handing him over the child with a raised eyebrow.
All his answer was an impish smirk followed by the sound of Teddy suckling. If he cheated and used his Mist Flames to help a bit, well, she didn't have to know.
"Cheeky git." She murmured dryly. This time her tone wasn't hard and cynical. A pleased light shined in her eyes, making them lighter than their usual emerald color. She smiled and touched his arm. And when the two came into contact, he had just the time to realize what he was feeling when it happened.
Indigo Mist and orange Sky mixed in a whirlwind of colour and something slammed into his Flames, sizing his soul with the promise of eternal freedom. Of belonging. Of home.
Harmony flooded his very being.
His eyelashes fluttered against sharp cheekbones and his stomach clenched at the sensation. He then swallowed hard as Iris' green eyes glowed orange and he tightened his grip on Teddy's fragile form. His instincts already reflecting her desire to protect the child.
'His Sky's desire to protect her son,' his mind whispered in awe.
Shamal looked down at her clenched fingertips, bone white around his scrub. Her shoulders raised in an unmistakable defensive posture, expression weary and confused. Despite this, her Sky Flames latched strongly at his Mist ones.
"Merda," he breathed. And now who was going to tell that to Reborn?!
oOo
1st August 1998 –Namimori Shrine, Namimori
"Shamal, really, it's not the moment!" Reborn snapped as a greeting to the assassin-doctor, still pissed off for the early phone call. His black eyes glanced around the yard of the temple where the Vongola Ten Generation and their friends were goofing around and basically getting on his nerves.
Yuni's sky blue eyes met his own. For a moment, a happy knowing sparkle replaced the worried look that she wore for most of the previous weeks. Before he could ask her what she had seen -because Reborn was sure she had just had a short Vision- the watch on her left wrist chimed lightly and a soft grin brightened her countenance. Walking toward the other teenagers, the thirteen years old said over her shoulder. "Ten seconds from the bazooka activation. I'll alert the others and start the countdown."
The Sun lowered the brim of his fedora in thanking, for once deciding to let his curiosity go. He took a couple of steps from the main group – still well in the teleport area but far enough to give a semblance of privacy- and got back to the Mist's call.
"You heard her pervert, ten seconds and we are back to the future timeline so keep it short."
"Nine," counted the Sky Arcobaleno.
"But, but-t… I- she…"
The killer arched his eyebrows incredulous before briskly furrowing them in a thunderous scowl. "Stop rambling, idiot! What's wrong?"
"Eight"
Shamal's shuddering breath echoed loudly in his ear. "Sh-she's a Sky, Reborn!"
"Who is a Sky?"
His response was almost covered by Yuni's 'Seven'.
"I-Iris," he gulped. "Iris is a Sky!"
The not-child blinked rapidly. He couldn't understand what the other was saying, for the first time in his life, his brilliant brain wasn't computing. "…Iris is a Sky?" He repeated slowly and uncomprehending.
"Six seconds."
Finally realizing he was in a rush, the doctor got almost hysterical with his need to convey the most of the information in the shortest of time. "Yes, a very strong but inactive one. And Reborn?" At the distracted hum that he received as response, the Mist took a fortifying breath and hoped for a swift and painless death before saying, "I may have accidentallyandunknowinglyHarmonizedwiththekid."
"Five."
On the other side of the phone, Shamal cringed at the long, heavy pause. The words Reborn then spoke were heavily tight and carefully controlled. His fury was barely restrained and his twisting shadow showed it. "…You Harmonized with my granddaughter."
"Four."
A strangled yes was all the Arcobaleno needed to lash out. "You said she was a Mist!"
"I thought so too! At Genoa and at Naples she just disappeared! I hadn't thought to- I didn't realize…"
"Three."
"I swear Reborn it was an accident!" Shamal halfheartedly tried to defend himself, his voice pitching with nervousness. After all, it was hard not to be anxious when the bond with his new Sky was practically humming in the back of his mind and said Sky's grandfather was on the other side of the phone. "I didn't realize until it was too late! And with her injuries …"
"Two."
"Injuries?" The Arcobaleno hissed, trying to make sense to the doctor's chaotic babble, while a trickle of worry made its way into his black heart. A few wrinkles creased his forehead. "What injures, Shamal?!"
"She-"
"One."
And the shrunk hitman's world exploded in a cloud of pink smoke.
oOo
1st August 2008 – Vongola Hideout, Namimori
Rolling a lollypop around his mouth with his tongue, Spanner watched anxiously the countdown on the display of his supercomputer. Years of planning and spying the Millefiore came down to this moment and, if he wanted to be truthful with himself, he didn't know what to feel. Not to say that the Italian engineer regretted betraying his old friend –could it really be considered betrayal when Byakuran became the monstrous and insane version of himself?- but he knew not to put all his hopes in the young versions of the Vongola Family.
They may have the rings for the Vongola Boxes, true, but they were young and very inexperienced. They still lacked the ruthlessness and brutality to be a Mafioso.
'And I know I'm not the only one worried about that…' he thought troubled, running a hand through his blond locks. Still, for all his doubts about sixteen years old Tsuna Sawada, he trusted twenty-six years old Tsunayoshi Vongola and his plan.
"The man wouldn't have let for a bullet to be put in his brain for nothing… right?" He pondered out loud in the empty room. He masterfully ignored the well-known fact that the Japanese Vongola Boss often declared his displeasure in being involved in Mafia business. That maybe he was just sick and tired of this whole thing and took the easy way out.
Groaning, he rolled nervously his lollipop in his mouth again and dried his sweaty hands on his coveralls. 'Giusto! Better not think about it!'
However, no one could fault him if his brilliant brain, already pushed to the maximum efficiency by boxes of sugary goodies, was already working on thousands of different scenarios to save the salvageable. And calling all the support they may need.
A pink smoke cloud made its way into the room and interrupted his reasoning. A group of teenagers and a pint-sized killer materialized into the Vongola's lab.
The mechanic let out a sigh of relief and let himself fall against the back of his chair. "It was successful." He mumbled, his listless jade eyes sharpening for a second taking in the change in the boys' Flames. They were as pure as usual but now they had something more. Something ancient and powerful in them. The First Generation's Blessing. "Ten minutes have passed. I guess you are back in one piece."
Reborn nodded to his fellow Italian and then turned around, pinning his protégé with an unrelenting stare. "Tsuna. The real battle is about to begin."
"Yeah," murmured the sixteen years old clenching the Vongola Box tight in his hand. He and his friends worked hard to be prepared for this fight, ten long weeks of sacrifices, blood and tears to be deserving of his Family's legacy. He just hoped they were ready; losing wasn't an option anymore.
The solemn moment was cut off by lab's door being slammed open and a man made his way into the room. "It takes a very special kind of idiot to pull off what you did." He declared, frustrated, over his shoulder.
The black haired woman that followed him, colored in embarrassment. However, nothing could hide the amusement glinting in her eyes. "Do you have an idea the amount of self-control I had t- "
"Self-control?! What self-control!? You didn't have to call the members of the ICW useless old relics!"
"But they are, Neville! And in my defense, I was left unsupervised."
At his incredulous snort, one promptly copied by a smirking Spanner, she pouted. Then she opened her mouth again, seemly more than ready to further defended herself from the accusation. However, whatever the woman reply had, it was cut off by a blur of a pale coloured sundress. "Cousin Iris! You are here!"
The enthusiastic hug of the young Giglio Nero Boss almost floored the woman.
"It's good to see you again, sweetheart!" Said back a laughing Iris, running a hand through the Italian girl's hair. A light frown made its way in her face, "I was so worried when I heard Byakuran got his hands on you…"
Yuni smiled widely, shaking her head in reassurance. "Tsuna and the others saved me!"
"Of course! The younger version of our Vongola Family!" Iris turned toward the just mentioned teenagers. The boys where all in different stages of weariness and perplexity. Despite her scrutiny of the group, it was another person that had her full attention. Soft, glittering, emerald eyes immersed in carefully controlled black ones. A smile lingered on her lips.
"Ciao nonno!"
